Charlie's Devil
by ReynaRed
Summary: Former drug addict Charlie Issac, struggling to make her way in Gotham's most unforgiving neighborhood, fights her inner demons and moral dilemmas as she finds herself in the hands of Gotham's most unforgiving man. Rated M for future (intense) violence and potential sexual themes.
1. Introduction

_Step one was a pinch: brief and sharp. Step two was easy. Find a place to settle, and stay low. Step three was ecstasy. Let it roll over you in waves of familiarity and forget about Gotham. Forget about Richie. Forget about how many IOUs were nestled away in Danny's pocket. Just breathe… And be._

"Miss? Did you want more coffee?" The chipper waitress stood over Charlie Issac's table, coffee pot hovering above her empty mug. Charlie jumped slightly, roused from her memory and nodded hastily, her attention turned once more to her textbook. The server huffed lightly and poured the coffee, before hastily making her way back to the kitchen.

 _A History of Forensic Psychology and Criminal Behavior_ sat heavily in front of Charlie's empty plate, the harsh black print of chapter 15 burned under her eyelids. After reading the same paragraph four times in a row, Charlie let her breath out in an exasperated puff and slammed the book shut. She stood abruptly at her table and slapped a $20 bill into the table, stuffing the textbook into her backpack as she exited Mary's Diner and charged into the rain outside. The downpour quickly soaked her clothing now clinging to slender figure. She sighed and made her way quickly to the bus stop on 5th street, streams of water running down her face like tears.

Under the crowded shelter of the bus stop, Charlie eased her way in between an exhausted looking pregnant woman and a gnarled old man. Pulling her bag into her lap, she unlatched the leather top and peered inside, assessing the water damage to her book. From what she could see, all of the pages were damp and already wrinkling badly. She hissed harshly under her breath, reaching down to brush the tops of the pages with her long fingers. _Jesus Charlie, practice a little caution, would ya?_ Charlie scoffed inwardly at herself. It's not like she could predict the weather.

Setting the bag down, she stood to take off her wet hoodie, which was now hugging her frame like an extra layer of freezing skin. Unfortunately, as one might know, an article of wet clothing no matter the material is especially difficult to remove. So as Charlie wrestled the jacket from her torso and the bus squealed up to the stop, she failed to notice the lack of patrons on the vehicle. When she turned to grab her book bag from the bench, she failed to notice the terrified faces of her fellow stop mates. Rummaging around in the bag as she stepped on the bus and the doors screeched shut behind her, she failed to see the grin-sporting driver. Who in turn, failed to understand why this seemingly intelligent girl had failed to notice him, the grin-sporting driver.

And that's how Charlie's life took a turn for the funny. Just a simple misunderstanding.


	2. Chapter 1

Before the now well-known antics of the vigilante bat, criminals need not lurk in the shadows. Wrongdoings were committed with gusto. With gunshots and threats bellowed into the cold. With pistols pressed to lower backs and renowned white-collar temples. The good old days.

The rise of Batman sparked a plague of fear and superstition among all common delinquents. Muggers no longer prowled with a confident air among the black garbage bags littering dark Gotham alleyways. Psychopaths were identified, rounded up, and thrown in Arkham without hesitation. Gotham's streets seemed a little safer, and it's citizens felt a little better knowing the Dark Knight could be (and was) overseeing all activity from above.

Charlie was born in the good old days. Her mother, Elizabeth, worked night shifts at their local convenience store, selling coffee, breath mints, and nudie magazines to drifting mobsters. Her father was all but absent from her life; too busy running with the wrong crowd and dealing cheap heroin to drive her to school and help with times tables.

When she was 12 years old, her mother made a friend by the name of Vinny. He was one of her regulars at the store who often stayed long after paying for his coffee, breath mints, or nudie magazines to chat with Elizabeth. One day, she brought him home. He helped her cook dinner, laughed with Charlie over her silly games with dolls, and followed Elizabeth to her room hours later.

Charlie and Vinny became great friends as the weeks went by, for he was everything you could ask for in a substitute father. Unfortunately, the weeks turned into months, and Vinny turned mean. He would no longer follow Elizabeth into the bedroom with a gentle smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Instead, Charlie would watch him drag her mother by the wrist into the bathroom and scream until he was purple. Elizabeth began taking longer shifts and Charlie stopped going to school at age 16, told by Vinny that it was about time she "started learning the practices and methods of a good housewife." She learned her way around the kitchen and became close friends with the knives.

It was during one of her mother's 12 hour shifts that Vinny touched her. Grabbing her waist from behind he pulled her in close, inhaling deeply as his nose pressed against her temple. " _You look just like your mother."_

When Elizabeth returned from her shift, Charlie had gone and Vinny was facedown in a pool of his own blood and chopped green peppers.

On the streets, Charlie thrived. She made friends and learned things about the inner workings of Gotham's underworld that no dirty cop or Falcone thug could even begin to understand. She survived off of petty theft and unreliable fences. Fences who eventually turned her away after her findings dropped in value.

" _C'mon guys, you're all I have." Charlie dropped the pickpocketed goods on the tarp between her and her next meal._

" _Sorry kid, we can't affords to be buying no more cheap merchandises." The weathered men gathered their things, pushing Charlie's loot off to the side to fold the tarp. As his partners stood to leave, one lingered behind, squatting next to Charlie's hopeless figure._

 _"Listen, if you're looking for dirty work, find Richie in the old warehouse on the corner of 23_ _rd_ _Street and Gull. Can't miss it." The man turned away from her, brushing off his pants as he looked over his shoulder and said: "I didn't send ya."_

And so Charlie found Richie. Charlie, like her father, found money and heroin and sex in the hellhole on the corner of 23rd Street and Gull. There were no bad deals, no bad batches, and (thank God) no busts.

Charlie's youth served Richie well. Not only was she a good lay; she was one hell of a salesman. Dealing came naturally to the limber 19 year old prowling the streets of Gotham like a drug queen. Charlie sat in the laps of wealthy male homeowners, rubbing their thighs and giving the sales pitch of a lifetime. She left them begging for more of everything, and returned to Richie with a handful of $50 bills and soiled needles. She was his golden goose in a golden age.

As skilled in her work and naturally kind of heart as she was, she'd won the hearts and wallets of many customers. Only one of which had won hers in return. His name was Danny, and he was the son of a wealthy shareholder at Wayne

Enterprises. She sold him heroin, and he gave her too much money and company in return. Eventually, Charlie stopped her business-only visits and began seeing him casually.

They became good friends over the months of shared laughter and trippy nights, and Danny began to fall hard. Richie noticed Charlie's prolonged visits to Danny's and became wary. He didn't like their closeness and _especially_ didn't like the idea of losing his best fuck to a bureaucratic brat. He cut off Charlie's supply and watched with cruel eyes as she suffered the hard reality of withdrawal. She escaped to Danny, who, as much as he cared for her, didn't see a future in the bloodshot eyes of a rung out heroin dealer. He floated her close to 5K to get out of his hair forever, for the better of the two of them, and Charlie fled to the Narrows.

Finally rid of the burden of 23rd and Gull, Charlie used Danny's generosity to pay for a roach-infested apartment on the edge of the Narrows. Determined to turn her life around, she began showing up to group therapy sessions held at Arkham on Thursdays and got a job at the Laundromat three buildings down from her apartment complex. She frequently visited the bookstore to browse and fantasize, never being able to afford any material worth reading. It wasn't until she'd befriended one of the many nurses at Arkham that she truly understood her hidden passion for the clinically insane.

Wendy was "43 years young," wore bright pink lipstick and long acrylic nails, had a nasty smokers cough, and the biggest heart of anyone Charlie had ever met. Long after her group sessions were over, Charlie would stay behind and listen in awe as Wendy shared stories of past patients or residents of Arkham. Charlie was particularly interested in the stories of the dangerous patients. Patients who, in the midst of an intense mental breakdown, could somehow manage to take down four heavily armed guards without breaking a sweat or ceasing crying.

For her 20th birthday, Wendy stopped by Charlie's shit apartment at about 4 PM for tea and festivities. Along with her lingering smell of cigarettes Wendy brought _A History of Forensic Psychology and Criminal Behavior,_ wrapped in newspaper and a mustard yellow bow.

" _Study hard, girl. Your time is now." Charlie smiled and wrapped her arms around the old nurse, tears of gratitude blurring her vision._

" _Thank you so, so much."_


End file.
